only thing worth it...

oh angel,
have you come to save me?
but angel do you not know,
that it might be too late,
on part of thee.

but no worry, now that you have come,
u can have all that is left,
i would give to anyone for free.
cant promise any fruit though,
for there was never really a tree.

i offer you my soul,
but i sold its better half to the satan,
so don't be disappointed
cuz i doubt if its whole.

i offer you my body,
losing it has been a long desire,
it is strong, for it has endured,
and maybe less painful will be the final fire.

i offer you my heart,
but again i cant give you all,
lets settle for half,
for i want to feel it broken apart.

i offer you love,
something i have in plenty,
so here it is angel dearest,
take it all, i need it no more,
for i am unable to find anyone more worthy.

castled...

when the land was flooded,
with draught and darkness,
where the sun shone in satanic nobility.
no difference between stock and human,
no means to fulfill either's capacity.
when there was no light to follow,
and no land to be ploughed.
and the popular oxymoron was,
'you reap what you sow'.

the king was born, in the fields of corn,
the one who shall take them through.
castled in purple robes,
one whose majest is not borrowed,
to add essence to this malodor brew...

people were who he protected,
he bled so they could rest.
he built with his hands bare,
a home, because he cared.
a teacher when the students learned,
he brought the wood that they burned.
his sword glittered in the sunlight bright,
a demon's nightmare, when he comes to fight.

and on the street near the bay,
on a fine spring day.
demons gathered to form a plot,
to hang the warrior, by the knot.
and in a moment of deject,
when his thoughts he could not connect,
they cornered the ones he trusted,
and bought their soles rusted.

he knew he faces judgement day,
he rose with his sword, ready to slay.
swamped with the colour of wine in the sac,
he heard the tearing of his flesh.
and he sees familiar faces around,
the obvious is what he has now found.

he fought for the ones who could not stand,
for themselves or the samaritan.
and he hopes its goodwill that they still sell,
but did they really, he couldnt tell.

...the percipient

reborn

sleep my dear child
it'll be all over in the morning
when you wake up you shall smile
you have done a good job,
to amuse all this while...

when their time came to walk and carry,
they chose to ride,
and now that the vehicle is out of order,
they have chosen to hide...
with no one here to share the burden,
he pushes slackened
his body takes the abuse without demur,
he waits for the time,
when the world would be just a blur...

he lays still, his back broken,
but this time,
thats not the only thing thats weakened
there is no desire for revival
to lay still is his only want
but who is he kiddin,
he knows he would have to walk again,
but this time,
the only motivation is to break again.
and never to be reborn...


...the percipient

a grainy picture

Tumbling, rolling, rising and falling
Following the commandments of the wind,
As I stand here watching, thinking,
If those grains of sands should live,
Would thy life be any different…?

Could they be thinking as intelligent beings?
Laughing watching us run,
As one would expect god to.
Trying to find music in this bedlam.

Have they become immune to the pun,
Of the world so crude
Eroding itself with the friction,
Trying to get a quick smooth

Are they waiting for us to join them,
As the other soldiers have.
Exhausted and beaten all the same.
Never resting but forever testing.
Till the end.

Do they have records of heroes,
Do they differentiate exquisite and mundane,
Is there a restriction to their flight,
Or have they given into the plight.

They say you feel small before the ocean.
I say you can feel small before the sand,
The wind the moon and the passion,
With which these grains call
For that ultimate union.

-BY THE PERCIPIENT
(nikhil sindhwani)